


Under Suspicion

by MythicRhyvon



Series: The Times and Trials of James H. Bond and 'Q' [1]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Loyality, M/M, Recruitment, alex deserves better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicRhyvon/pseuds/MythicRhyvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of loyalty, betrayal, revelations and bonds. When an unbiased party is needed to determine the risk of Alex Riders’ continued employment with MI6 and his loyalty to England, who better to determine then one who has given everything for Queen and Country?  When push comes to shove loyalty falls to those who have earned it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Q-Branch was a bustle of activity, as it always was during and often even after daylight hours. James Bond, code name 007, had become a quite common sight amongst the techies and programmers in recent months, to the point they scarcely spared him a glance as he strode confidently to the center console where their esteemed branch head stood. His fingers were hardly more then a blur as his eyes darted from one line of code to the next faster then the average person could read a novel. 

“007, to what do I owe the pleasure? I find I’m quite busy today.” He stated without pause or glance as the intimidating man standing just far enough away to be professional. 

“Summons from M. To report immediately to Q-Branch for a high security debrief. Did you not get the email?” His words took on a slight teasing note at the end. 

Slender fingers came to a stop on the keyboard and a gusty sigh left his lips. “Does he really think that I just sit at my computer, waiting for new emails to chime up and claim my attention?” 

“I’ve told you before you should demand a secretary.” 

“Most of the stuff that crosses my desk is for my eyes only, or at least too high security for the average agent to gain access to. Setting a secretary there would cause me more work then it would save me.” He sighed again, and ran a hand through already disheveled hair. “A 00 though would have high enough clearance for most of it. Tell me Bond, would you like to be my secretary?” He asked, tone lower, as he turned to make eye contact for the first time. 

A familiar naughty glint filled those brilliant blue eyes and his head cocked slightly to the side. “I could imagine worse jobs.” He said slyly. “And I’m sure we could find ways to fill all the time I’d be saving you.” 

Q grinned and ducked his head. “Come on, lets see what M wants this time.” They slowly made their way to his office. He punched in his code and allowed the retinal scan, this being the first time all day he had accessed the secure space. He absently hit the button to turn the clear glass frosted, knowing if they were meeting in his office it was probably going to be required. 

He flopped down in his comfortable chair and switched his computer on. He was just pulling up his email when the door opened again and M and Moneypenny entered. 

“Full blackout please, Quartermaster.” M requested calmly. Q nodded, typing several commands into his computer before getting up and manually unplugging the camera hidden in the corner of the room (angled of course to only see the back of his computer, the door and the Quartermasters face, not the front of the computer or the surface of the desk). He moved further, tapping on the wall to reveal a hidden panel, where he typed in another code and another retinal scan. A heavy locking sound came from the door and a small red light began flashing on the outside of it. Finally he moved to sit back in his chair and disconnect his computer from the MI6 server. 

“Blackout complete.” He intoned once finished. M nodded in thanks before setting the very small brown paper folder down on the desk. The folder opened to reveal the photo of a young man. Statistics were listed next to the photo; Name: Alexander Rider. DOB: classified, Height: 5’10 Weight: 63.5 kilo Hair: Blond, Eye colour: Brown, Defining Characteristics: Birthmark, left shoulder, Bullet wound, left chest. 

Q turned the page. Agencies worked with: MI6, SIS, CIA, ASIS, Scorpia. Each name was followed by a very small paragraph briefing the events, as well as a picture taken of Rider at the time of the operation. 

The third and last page had three small lines typed neatly in the middle of the page.   
Security level: Black.   
Authorization level: Revoked.   
Status: Undetermined. 

Q looked up at M searchingly as he passed the folder back. M handed it to 007. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir, is this boy a target? A recruit?” 

“He’s an agent. Currently under investigation for defection to the terrorist group SCORPIA. Our sister branch wants someone unbiased and neutral to determine if this Agent is still loyal to Her Majesty, or if he is a threat to be dealt with. You have been assigned to the task, 007. He is coming here under the guise of a joint operation. It is your job to asses his possible threat risk. If you believe him a loyal agent you will finish the mission quietly with him none the wiser. If you believe him lost you are to determine whether or not he can be retired, or if he need be eliminated. If you find him a threat you are to make it happen. There will be no investigation or questions into your decision.” 

James’ eyes glanced back down to the folder. “This boy hardly looks old enough to shave. And I don’t believe I have ever seen a classified birth date before. What’s really going on M?” 

The man sighed, loosing his professional persona for a moment. “He was recruited by our sister branch when he was 14. His employment with them has been… questionable, and would look very bad on Her Majesty should it become public knowledge. This is a very delicate operation 007, and the possible consequences are enormous. It is imperative that you use caution and make a good decision.” 

“Restrictions?” 

“They do not want him given weapons, citing a lack of training and proficiency. Otherwise it is at your discretion.” 

“That’s a lot of freedom and power to place in one man’s hands.” He remarked back loftily, though his eyes had gone hard and cold. It was not a good task to assign to anyone, but Bond himself had been scrutinized after his apparent death enough to have felt the surprising sting that resulted from a lack of faith aimed at him. 

A small beep came from Moneypenny’s handheld. “Our visitors are requesting entry, sir.” She stated calmly from her perch on the edge of a visitors chair. 

Q stood again to break the lockdown long enough to allow them entry but just before the door opened M spoke up again. “You were assigned the task, 007, because you are trusted with the decision.” 

The door opened with a hiss a heartbeat later, allowing entry of a distinguished looking middle aged woman with chocolate skin and a neatly pressed suit standing next to an athletic looking man with blonde hair wearing board shorts, a slim fitting black t-shirt and a simple black paracord bracelet on his right wrist. 

“Good evening.” M spoke, standing in welcome. “I am M, this is our Quartermaster, Agent Moneypenny and Agent 007.”

“Thank you. I am Mrs. Jones, and this is Agent Rider.” 

“Yes, well. Quartermaster, if you could bring up the file on Ivan Blokov?” 

“Of course, M.” He said calmly, fingers flying back over the board and bringing up the information in less than a minute. He sent the information to the otherwise invisible screen located on the wall. Pictures and statistics started scrolling down the wall. 

“Ivan Blokov had been small time so far, working under Vitali Dyomochka. They’ve mostly stuck to collecting protection money and extortion and have a relatively small body count to date. Considering their threat level and their location they have not felt any need to interfere… Until now. Our agent in the area reports sighting Blokov in discussion with Sergei “Mikhas” Mikhailov of the Solntsevkaya Bratva.”

“The Bratva is not small time. As of 2003 the US reported known activity in San Francisco, New York, Detroit, Grand Rapids, Miami and Chicago, all major cities. They are linked to the local drug cartels, money laundering, prostitution, credit card fraud, arms dealing and, more recently, human trafficking.”

“In 2009 a new player popped up, Maxim Sheaib. He is known as the Prince or the Diplomat due to his work as negotiator between different counterparts in criminal organizations. Sheaib has a strong presence in Eastern Europe, the Middle Ease and Asia. He is also suspected to have been in Europe leading up to the death of Vyachelay Ivankov and Aslan Usoyan.”

“Blokov, Mikhas and Sheaib were spotted together on Downing Street three days ago. They left without incident and have been confirmed to have left the country yesterday. Early this morning a bomb was found and defused that had the power to level the street. It was not well hidden, it was meant to be found. We believe it was a warning, of what we don’t know. The national security threat level is severe.”

“The two of you are being sent to Russia to gather whatever Intel you can. This is a sanctioned mission, and the Russian Government is aware of you pending presence. That being said- relations with Russia are… precarious, at the best of times. Do keep that in mind, 007.” 

“I always do, sir.” 

M let out a very unprofessional scoff at that but choose not to comment. “Your information.” He stated as Moneypenny handed over another file folder, identical to the one that had silently made its way to the top drawer of the large desk. “Your flight leaves at 0600, Q will outfit you both. Good luck, gentlemen.” 

“Excuse me, sir, but why exactly have I been brought in for this?” Agent Rider spoke up as Q was ending the security parameters. 

M stopped, back stiff and voice stern when he answered. “I was informed you were the best infiltration agent our sister branch had to offer, and fluent in Russian at that. Was I misinformed?” 

“…I suppose not, sir.” 

“Good.” 

“Right.” Miss Jones stated, standing from her chair. “I must be going Alex, good luck on your mission.” She started for the door but paused next to the boy instead, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked like she was going to say something. She held it back though and shot him a tight smile before she walked briskly out the door. 

Silence fell over the remaining three occupants. Bond and Q locked eyes, words passing unspoken between them. “I’ll grab your kit.” The younger of the two spoke finally before he, too, left the office. 

James turned to study the young man, noting with amused approval that brown eyes were doing the same to him. 

“So, Alex, wasn’t it? 

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of loyalty, betrayal, revelations and bonds. When an unbiased party is needed to determine the risk of Alex Riders’ continued employment with MI6 and his loyalty to England, who better to determine then one who has given everything for Queen and Country? When push comes to shove loyalty falls to those who have earned it.

James turned to study the young man, noting with amused approval that brown eyes were doing the same to him. 

“So, Alex, wasn’t it? 

They boy nodded, but kept silent. “I’m Bond, James Bond.” He extended his hand, pleased when Alex returned the gesture without much hesitation. His grip was firm and confident, lacking both an overly strong squeeze and a sweaty palm that would have revealed nerves. Interestingly enough were calluses’ very similar to the ones on his own hands- the ones gained from the frequent usage of hand guns. 

“Worked for MI6 long?” He asked casually as their hands fell back to their sides. 

“A bit.” Alex shrugged. 

“Like it?” 

Brown eyes met blue. Lips twisted in a bitter mockery of a smile for less then a split second before it was covered, melting into a more blankly amused expression. James was very adept at reading expression, however, and caught every muscle twitch. “Pretty difficult job to stick with if you don’t like it, yea?” 

The door reopening stopped James from responding, but his assessing look continued for another long moment before he turned to his quartermaster. The other mans eyes were glued to the tablet he carried with one hand, the other typing god only knows what, with a thick satchel slung over his shoulder. 

The bag in questing made a resounding thud as it hit the surface of his desk, it’s carrier lowering himself slowly down into his chair. “…Q?” James finally spoke up after long minutes had passed in silence. 

“Just a mo..” another minute passed before he abruptly set down the electronic and stood to dig in the bag. He held out the familiar gun case to James, which he knew held his usual Walter, two clips and his radio. Q then took out a much smaller case and opened it himself, showing the array of small round circles, in varying shades of white, grey, brown and black. 

“These are our latest bugs. High frequency, able to transmit up to a distance of five kilometers and nearly undetectable. When bug finders are used the two signals will collide. These are programmed to stop transmitting as soon as the other signal is received, rendering it useless during the search but, theoretically, undetected.”

“Theoretically?” Alex spoke up, voice hard. 

Q paused, making eye contact with the boy for the first time since their introductions. He couldn’t deny that the current mission made him somewhat uncomfortable, and he planned to stay as detached from the subject as possible in case the result came out.. Unfavorable. Still. “Yes, Agent Rider, theoretically. These are a prototype and, though their lab tests have been unparalleled, this will be their first field use.”

“Aww, Q, you’re trusting me with a prototype?” James spoke up before Alex could continue and he’d have an irritated lover on his hands. The look the younger man shot him told him clearly that he knew what he was doing, but it was fondly amused rather then annoyed as it could have been.

“Trust me 007, the R&D team had plenty to say about it. That being said, I assured them that you would give them very useful results so please, try to actually put them to use before you find a way to break them.” 

James brought a hand up to cover his hear and shot an injured look back, but refrained from replying. 

Q continued, lips slightly quirked despite himself, as he handed off a second tablet, five small black boxes, a small bag of screws and a tiny screwdriver. “These are the transceivers. As I said, these bugs have a five kilometer radius. Place one transceiver in the area and it will pick up all transmissions in range and send them to both that tablet as well as Q branch. The tablet has it’s own bug finder built in, a chamber filled with halothane vapour here-” He pointed to the right side of the screen. “If you hold down this button for three seconds then press it rapidly three times and hold it for another three seconds you will have ten seconds to clear the area. Deploying the gas will also set off a self destruct function in the tablet. It is nearly indestructible- no, that’s not an invitation- and waterproof to 200 meters.”

“Agent Rider- right or left hand dominant?” 

“Right generally, but I’m almost as proficient with my left.” Q mentally gave him points for answering without the redundant ‘why?’ questions he got so often and then shook that thought free, reminding himself not to grow any fondness for the boy. 

He picked up his tablet again, and opened a new program. “Right hand please.” Alex stepped up to the desk. “Place your palm down on the screen and hold it for five seconds.” ….. “Thank you.” He reached back into the bag and removed another case, identical to the first he had handed over. He paused, making eye contact with James to verify if his thought was correct before he continued. The man nodded the slightest bit. 

He opened the case and removed the gun from inside, field stripping it with a practiced hand and removing the tiny microchip located in the handle. He inserted it into the equally tiny slot on his tablet and spent a minute typing. Once finished he pressed it back into the gun and pieced it back together. He gripped it in his own hand to verify the red light and then handed it to Rider by the barrel. “Please grip it as you would to shoot.” The light turned green and he nodded in satisfaction. 

“The grip is now coded to your unique palm and finger prints. The chip keeps the copy of it and uses 30 unique points to verify, 25 of them which must match for it to read. If 25 of the selected 30 do not match it will throw out the incompletes and find new points. This is to allow for injuries to the flesh of your hand. Green light means a match- don’t ever pull the trigger if it is red. It will shock you.” He placed the gun back into the case and pushed it over to the teen, who nodded his thanks. “Any questions?” A negative shake. “Then I believe we’re done here. Are you able to find your way back out?” Another nod. “007 will have your plane tickets in the morning. Please meet him Heathrow at 0600. Good luck, Agent Rider.” 

Alex nodded again, looking slightly unsure for the first time. “Thank you.” He said quietly, grabbing the weapon case, glancing at 007 again before he turned and left the office. Q turned back to his lover and he pulled one last thing from the bag. It was a small remote, the size of a thumb nail, with a single button set under the level of the casing to prevent accidental pressing. 

“The kill switch for his gun. Should your decision be.. Deleterious, this button lock down the firing capacity. The light will still turn green, but it will shock him rather then shoot you, should it come to that. The shock level on that particular gun is set high enough to stun and paralyze for ten to twenty minutes.”

His eyes were locked on the wood of his desk during the explanation. He knew if he made eye contact his lover would be able to see how uncomfortable the whole thing made him and that was simply unacceptable. He was the Quartermaster of MI6, a position he had received despite the scornful thoughts about his upbringing, former criminal dealings and his age- it was a position granted to him during a crisis that he had fought to keep once the dust settled. He wasn’t going to cringe from the job now, at least not visibly. 

He should have known that James would see through his façade anyways, eye contact or no eye contact. “Q…” He murmured gently, moving forward to encircle the slim body in his strong arms. 

“He’s not even legal yet James! You saw how young he is. This is England, we’re not a third world county. What are we doing, employing child soldiers?!” 

“Shhhh” the older man hushed, pressing slightly chapped lips to the softness under Q’s ear. “How old were you when MI6 recruited you, humm?” 

“That was completely different. They brought me in for my brain, said it would be a waste for a mind like mine to whither away in prison. They didn’t have me out in the field at what- sixteen or seventeen? How high do you reckon his kill count is? He’s a child, James.” 

James pulled back and forced him to look him in the eyes. “You of all people know that physical age isn’t a measure a mental maturity, Lucas. We don’t all get to be children. Most of the people in this field have some fucked up story or other. You think you’ve never been put under investigation? You think I haven’t? At this point there’s no reason to believe I wont be able to clear the question of his loyalty by the end of this. I’ll take every precaution, but innocent until proven guilty, yeah?” 

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” He forced a smile, despite the lines still visible between his eyebrows. 

“Come on, we’ll get take away on the way home.” 

Q laughed. “I cant leave yet James, it’s only 1500.”

“So? I’m leaving on a potentially long term mission first thing… Wouldn’t you rather spend a few more hours with me then buried in these caverns?” 

“Of course, but…” James’ lips cut him off. 

“No buts. Come on, you never take personal days. Lets go home.” 

A smile tugged at his lips. “Okay,” he conceded, “ten minutes to wrap up. Meet you at the parking garage?” 

“If you’re not there in fifteen I’m carrying you out over my shoulder.” He threatened playfully, but Q didn’t doubt the truth of his word. 

“Ten minutes.” He promised. 

Xxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes later the two were pulling out of the parking garage and into afternoon London traffic. They crept along, enjoying the rare sunlight streaming into their (Or James’ rather, because Q honestly couldn’t care about cars the way his lover did) latest car- the DB9 convertible. They weren’t able to let the top down often, but always enjoyed it when they could. 

Q glanced over to at James to speak, but hesitated when he saw the mans eyes glued to his rearview mirror. “James?” He asked instead, knowing better then to turn and look over his shoulder. 

“We have a tail.” He replied calmly, accelerating through a small gap in traffic. 

“Oh?” 

“It appears my new mission is curious.” He accelerated through another gap, narrower then the first. 

“So?” Q questioned, left arm going up to grip the door. “We’re going to dinner, James, not discussing state secrets.” 

The 00 glanced over to see this white knuckled grip, amusement brightening his eyes but he slowed accordingly. “It’s the principle. And I don’t want him knowing where we live.” 

“Then lets stop for dinner instead of take away. Maybe by the time we’re finished he’ll be bored. That restaurant we went to after the Tanzania mission is right up here. Their filet mignon was fantastic.” 

James ran his eyes down Q’s outfit of the day and decided it would suffice. The restaurant he was talking about was expensive (and justifiably so- the food really was fantastic) but not overly classy. They pulled in a few minutes later and James left his suit jacket in the car. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows on the walk in and unbuttoned the top three buttons. 

He turned around last minute to remotely lock his car, eyes passing over Rider casually. They walked in and were seated immediately at a table in the back corner where they James could see both the door, the kitchen entrance and the window. The first time they sat like that Q had been a bit uncomfortable, having his back completely exposed to the room, but the closer they became the less it phased him- to the point that now he didn’t even think twice about trusting his lover with his safety. 

They placed their orders and received their appetizer and drinks, but James remained tense. Finally Q had enough. He glanced behind him to see that the next table was empty and no servers were near. He slid off his shoe and started rubbing his foot over James’ shin, pushing up his pant leg with his toes. Blue eyes snapped to his. 

Slowly- so slowly, he started moving his foot further and further up. His silk socks (horribly impracticable things they were, but he spent more time standing then walking, and they were a gift from James) leaving goose bumps up the flesh they were caressing. 

He pulled his toes out when the mans pant leg wouldn’t rise anymore and just in time for their entrée’s to be served. Q rested his foot back on top of his shoe as they dug into the fantastic meal and sipped their shared bottle of wine. 

The distraction of the meal was soon over, and the mischievous toes were soon back to their exploring. He was just starting to break James’ vice like control and feel a stirring under his foot when their waiter came back. 

“Would you like to see our dessert menu tonight?” The man asked, oblivious to the reason for James’ cold, blank face.  
“What do you think, James? Dessert?” Q asked, voice impish, as his foot twitched unnoticed again under the table. 

The older man cleared his throat quietly. “Not tonight, I think. We’ll take the check.” 

“Of course, sir.” They had the bill in moments and left the amount with a very generous tip on the table. They were in mere minutes later and if they noticed a familiar blond teen out of the corner of their eyes- well, neither could bring their selves to care overly much as Q ensured his lovers’ interest stayed interested on the rest of the drive home. 

xxxxxxxx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Last time: 

The distraction of the meal was soon over, and the mischievous toes were soon back to exploring. He was just starting to break James’ vice like control and feel a stirring under his foot when their waiter came back. 

“Would you like to see our dessert menu tonight? The man asked, obvious to the reason for James’ cold, blank face. 

“What do you think, James? Dessert?” Q asked, voice impish as his foot twitched unnoticed again under the table. 

“Not tonight, I think. We’ll take the check.” 

“Of course, sir.” They had the bill in moments and left the amount with a very generous tip on the table. They were in the car mere minutes later and if the noticed a familiar blond teen out of the corner of their eyes- well, neither could bring their selves to care overly much as Q ensured his lovers’ interest stayed interested on the rest of the drive home. 

00Q

The morning dawned much too early. James, as always, awoke first. He spent several long minutes just looking at the man lying next to him in bed, face slack and peaceful in ways it just wasn’t when he was awake. There were always too many worries, too many thoughts and considerations moving at light speed through his mind. Even when home and off the clock, a part of his mind stayed with the agents in the field. It was what made him such a good Quartermaster, and what had earned him the loyalty of the 00-agents. It was a new sensation, but a reassuring one, to know that their Quartermaster would do anything necessary to bring them home again. He was devoted to his agents in a way they’d never experienced before. Numbers and percent fractions did not matter- if he had a chance (and he would find one, do not doubt that), he’d take it and do his honest best to make it work. 

James ran a careful hand down the ivory skin of Qs side, stopping only when he reached the silky sheet pooled low on the man’s hips. Though he did not have many scars marring otherwise flawless skin, his life had not been an easy one. That same hand moved up and around, mind picturing the different parts of that skin marred by bold black ink, as it had done since the man mentioned he was considering getting a tattoo. James felt himself stir as arousal built with his imagination. Tattoos were against regs, of course, and James wasn’t wholly convinced the man would go through with his musings, but it was definitely an arousing image for him to play with. 

Finally, with a glance to the clock located next to the bed, James drew himself up and to the side of the bed, careful not to wake the still sleeping man. He rotated his shoulder, wincing slightly at the pain and stiffness that still infused the joint. The thought of retirement tricked across his mind, as it had been doing more and more frequently. It was something he’d never really believed in before. He was sure he’d die in a hail of gunfire, somewhere miles from home in some god-forsaken country most people would never hear the name of. He’d been ok with that knowledge, had accepted it as part of his duty to Queen and Country. Now though, now he knew Q would not let that happen. The threats were always going to be there- threats with new names, new faces and new agenda’s 

He was good at his job, he knew. But there were others who could do the job just as well. People who were younger, fitter and who still had the drive to jump in feet first and get the job done. People who didn’t become engulfed in reluctance every time a honeypot mission was assigned, who didn’t get frustrated with mission extensions or delayed vacation time. 

He was getting old- old and tired. He wanted to settle, to go to bed in his own home every night, to wake with his lover, to make love to the man without having to use protection against the hazards of his job. He wanted to be able to use the two custom motorcycles down in their rented garage space- to leave on a road trip and not have to worry about possible response time and recall limits. James stood up suddenly and shook his head at himself, moving to dress silently. He was exiting the secure high rise minutes later, feet falling into the familiar pitter-patter on the sidewalk. 

The run took him to a familiar part of the city some miles later. He slowed to a stop, breath slightly heavier than normal, and took in the building he had visited every day for two weeks. He had discovered the building upon returning from his last mission. He had been past it, of course, but had never given it a second glance. The ‘For Sale’ sign standing proudly in front of the house had been what had drawn his eye to it in the first place. 

It was an older looking brick house. The brick itself could be refinished, the roof needed replaced and it had an overall shabby feel. The flyer had stated it was a three bedroom, two bathroom, detached bungalow and was stickered with a £1,750,000 price tag. It was on a quiet street, set back about 30 meters from the road, with a good, tall, sturdy brick and wood fence dividing it from its neighbors and almost overgrown foliage granting it privacy that was hard to find in the city. It had two garages; a large, two car bay on the left of the home and a smaller one car bay on the right. The back yard was absolutely perfect. It was absolutely huge, with a thick foliage boarder, again making a perfectly private space to enjoy. There was already a brick pad laid out that could be fixed up and converted to an outdoor cooking space and a fire pit for when the weather was nice. 

He had already put his skills to use and examined the inside of the home, which would definitely need revamping, but was a good base to start with. James moved closer to the sign, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went. He gave one last look at the home and then started typing out a message. He hit send as he set back out onto the road, returning to the flat to shower and start his day. 

00Q

Q accompanied James to the airport, as it was still earlier than he needed to be at work and he had the time to do so. He was still feeling a bit melancholy with the situation, but was determined to support James in any way he needed. That meant getting the best intel and ensuring James had everything he needed to make the right decision. 

Alex was waiting outside when they arrived. James and Q both exited the car, James grabbing his bags from the back and Q moving around to take the driver’s seat. “Well.” Q spoke up, leaning against the driver’s door. “Best of luck, gentlemen. I will be in your ear for the duration of the assignment and we will have you back on home soil as soon as possible.” 

James quirked a smile at the shorter man, brushing his hand to rest for a brief moment out of site on Q’s hip as he ducked forward whisper “Be home before you know it,” and press a light kiss to the divot below his ear. He pulled back to a respectful distance. “Quartermaster.” He murmured, bowing his head slightly. 

“007. Agent Rider.” Q responded, nodding back before turning and lowering himself into the car. It was going to be a long few weeks, he knew already. 

00Q

The three and a half hour flight was spent in silence. Alex was content to doze through the trip, while James spent most of the flight texting various people and setting plans into action. By the time they landed things were in motion and James was feeling very satisfied. He felt a sense of relief, of happiness and anticipation. More than anything he wanted this mission to be over with, but that wouldn’t happen without effort and so he forced him mind on track. 

Though the mission was sanctioned by the Russian government, they still flew on false passports to lay the necessary trail should they need it. They checked into their hotel-a two bedroom suite on the top floor- without incident. The first week passed similarly. They followed leads and trails as they were given the information by Q-Branch, but nothing led back to anything concrete. They could not find any ties between all three men, any plots or plans involving the three, or even any family members of the three. Had they not been filmed together on Downing Street, the investigation would likely have been dropped by that point. 

As it were, James and Alex were sitting outside a café said to be frequented by Mikhas when he was in the city. They has already discreetly placed a bug under the lip of the table he was known to sit at when they were lead past it and now sat two tables away, both seated adjacent so the table was in site of both agents. They were eating their soup course when Qs voice appeared in their ears. 

“Be advised, hostile spotted arriving at the airport. Current active mission assigned to 006; target name Yassen Gregorovich, wanted most recently for questioning in the political assassination of the South African President Jacob Zuma. A photo of the target has been sent to your secure mobiles. He is to be considered armed and incredibly dangerous. Do not engage target. Repeat, do not engage. Please confirm.”

James casually moved to set his soup spoon down and grab his water glass. He tapped his finger on the glass in what looked like an absentminded gesture before he brought it to his lips. “Confirmed. An updated mission brief will be sent to you when we have more intel.” Q’s smooth voice faded from their ears as easily as it had begun and James looked to gage how Alex responded to the increased risk. The collision of multiple missions never ended well, especially one that included a notoriously dangerous and slippery assassin who had taken down an impressive number of agents (including the former 004), upon his meeting with them. 

To be honest, James wasn’t sure why they kept sending agents after the man. Sure, the man was an assassin, his body count numbered in the hundreds and morally, he should face justice. But James’ body count was just as high. Why should he be exempt over Gregorovich, just because the orders came from a different person? It was rare for an assassin to keep to the same code he made starting out. For most, the job became so normal that moral lines faded and the sense of riotousness became muted. 

Gregorovich vowed to not kill children, and now, over a decade later, kept to the same vow. He did not kill unnecessarily, and thus had the lowest collateral damage count associated with his kills of any of the assassins on MI6s watch list. An assassin was a weapon. They were interchangeable, like different guns suited to different tasks. It doesn’t matter if or when the Russian is eliminated- the same kills will still occur, the money will simply go to a different pocket. The question lies in how many others, how many innocent bystanders, will get in the way of a less precise weapon. 

James wondered in Alex shared the same opinion, as an odd look crossed the boy’s face before it was quickly blanked. It was an interesting expression while it lasted, a cross between surprise, anxiety, distaste and fondness. Glacial blue eyes looked away from the younger man as the server set down the main part of their lunch. 

A while longer, the two men ordered a dessert espresso and James began to despair another false lead. It was only when the drinks were set in front of them that Q spoke up once again.   
“Be advised, target approaching on foot from the North. ETA three minutes.” 

A silent gust of air escaped James in relief. After a week of dead ends he was more than ready for something to fall into place. They sipped slowly on their drinks. Alex had been playing some asinine game on his phone most of the lunch called Candy Smash or something similar, giving them freedom from pointless conversation. That freedom gave James the excuse to leisurely scan the crowd in between glancing over articles in the local newspaper. 

Finally, James glanced up and around to see Mikhas being seated at his usual table, back to them. He took the hit in stride- it would have been more informative if they could watch the man’s face, but having his back would allow them more freedom to observe. 

“Be advised, Gregorovich approaching target. This is our first sighting of him in twenty-three minutes. We lost surveillance in the market near the airport. Estimating by his current speed and direction, that walk only accounts for eight minutes. We do not have any intel on what he was doing for the remaining fifteen minutes. 006 is en route, ETA four minutes. M has declared Gregorovich a secondary target. We will not move on target two unless our primary mission is either complete or goes dark. You will not move on target two without my direct order. Confirm.” 

Again, James casually reached for his water glass. “Confirmed. Be advised, target two on premises.” He glanced up as he took a slow sip of water, enjoying the cool sensation cutting through the thick espresso flavor coating his tongue. 

The familiar face of Gregorovich strode over to their targets table, scanning the entirety of the room as he moved. James just managed to avoid eye contact with the man by sweeping his gaze back over at Alex. He had to freeze his expression to keep his sudden suspicion hidden as he saw Alex look directly at the Russian assassin. A quick glance back and he could see the two had locked gazes. It lasted only a fraction of a second- unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but James was very quick. 

Gregorovich allowed his sweep to continue and then sat smoothly down at their targets table. The younger man allowed his gaze to drop back down to his phone demurely, thus missing the second, longer, glance that the Russian took of him as he scooted his chair in and got comfortable at his table. His eyes jumped over and suddenly James couldn’t avoid meeting the other man’s eyes. 

If this was going to go the direction James feared it was, avoiding attention no longer mattered. The eye contact lasted a long second, curiosity, caution and lethal arrogance visible in the eyes of both killers. The bare edge of a smirk curled the Russians lips before he looked away, dismissing James in favor of his companion. 

There were no further signs of contact between Alex and Gregorovich before they were handed the bill and leaving before drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. It would be fine though, they had the table bugged, and 006 was in surveillance position. 

Alex did not slip up- no furtive glances as they stood and left, not even as they passed directly by the men, he did not try to signal or draw attention to their departure, nor did he try and leave behind any type of message. Still, James’ suspicion grew.   
00Q

Authors Note:   
I am American. I’ve never been to London and so I have no idea if this location is actually practical or not. We are going to pretend it is for the story. I got inspiration for the house James’ is looking at here: http://www.zoopla.co.uk/for-sale/details/39323670?search_identifier=595da6a67ae24c30dc3c5c046a8f0ad7#G8t2GjQHu8RfU3kf.97


	4. Chapter 4

The kid was good, James would freely admit. If he hadn’t caught those briefly exchanged looks, he’d have been none the wiser that the object of his investigation clearly knew the infamous Yassen Gregorovich. It made his suspected defection seem much more likely, given that he was doing so well hiding it – and more tellingly, that the assassin hadn’t immediately exposed them as British Intelligence, which James suspected he was well aware of.

When Alex excused himself to shower, James took the opportunity to slip silently into the second bedroom and plant one of the small bugs on the underside edge of the frame, invisible unless someone were to actually run their hand over the beam. He slipped out without disturbing anything else, despite the temptation, and was hunched over the balcony railing with a glass of scotch in his hand when the younger man reappeared.

James slept with a small receiver tucked into his ear, waking at every creak of the walls. The next three days passed the same, with no new intel and no further meetings between the two targets. 006 had reported Gregorovich had disappeared in the airport and he had been unable to track him from there. They assumed he had left the country but had no evidence and so remained tense and on edge. Rider behaved flawlessly, following orders, blending in and not doing anything to draw his attention. He seemed to sleep soundly at night and had not tried to slip away or communicate with anyone.

The fourth day they received intel that a warehouse on the dock belonged to the brother-in-law of Mikhas. They were to infiltrate the space and try to discover what was being kept in the harbor front building. They went in under the cover of deep night, slipping in through the roof just before two am. Once again, James was impressed by the skills of the young man. He moved faultlessly, sure and confident in himself despite the precarious nature of what they were doing.

They dropped down onto a catwalk soundlessly and quickly made their way through the seemingly abandoned space. It was a large building, and they were working within a tight window of time, so they split up to each clear a level- Alex heading upstairs to the rows of offices, while James moved down to check the basement.

They had an open feed between their headsets, though the device was currently as silent as they themselves were. While James carried the ability to mute his side of the com, Alex’s headset had been altered so that James could listen to him regardless of whether the thing was silenced or not. Q, as always, was listening from London, ready to offer his assistance if needed at a moment’s notice. James was hoping the small freedom and distance would tip the boys cards, and so he listened as intently to the device as he did to his surroundings.

Nothing happened, however, and James was beginning to think the warehouse was another false lead, as the abandoned warehouse they’d searched two days before had been. He cleared the last of the basement space and began turning to head back upstairs. As he turned, a shadowed wall caught his attention, and he moved carefully closer to check it out. Concealed within its space was a thick metal door with a heavy iron latch.

Riders’ com blared to life in his ear and they boy announced the upstairs was clear and free of anything suspicious. James reached up to activate his own device, voice quiet and almost gravely in the otherwise still space. “I may have something. Move back to the main floor and hold.” A reply didn’t come, but he assumed the boy would follow his directions as he’d done so far.

He was expecting the heavy latch to be stiff or difficult to move, but it pushed down and swung open easily. On the other side was a stairwell going further down. He eased his way into the space, which wasn’t as dark below as he’d have thought an unused subbasement to be, but then, the blue prints of the building didn’t show one at all, so hopefully this was the break they’d been looking for. He reached up to his ear before descending. “There’s a subbasement, back right corner, doors hidden in a shadow. Make your way down, I’m going in now.”

Feet silent, he descended the twenty curving steps until he reached another door, identical to the first. He pressed his back to the bare stretch of stone wall beside it and reached out for the identical handle, gun held readily in his other hand. As before, the door opened easily at his touch. The light that had been seeping through the cracks immediately filled the slowly expanding crack in a solid beam of brightness, causing him to blink twice quickly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change.

It looked like the room was as large as it’s upstairs counterpart, and filled with stacks of boxes, banks of computer monitors and an assortment of gear and equipment that clearly showed it was being used, where the rest of the building wasn’t. He pulled back, carefully closing the door once again and moving quickly up the stairwell. He’d gather Rider and update Q on what they’d found before proceeding further. Before he could take a step away the door was yanked open behind him and a dart found its way to his neck. He didn’t even have time to spin around before he was stumbling to his knees, the sedative working faster than he could believe. He was unconscious before he hit the floor, downed as silently as he himself had been moving above them.

The man holding the tranq gun stepped into the stairwell and began moving up the stairs. Meanwhile, a pair of men had come up behind Alex, turning his attention from the door and causing him to go on the defensive. He brought his own gun up, but was faced with two in return. He paused, considering his next move carefully. He finally raised his hands like he was going to surrender, pointing his weapon up instead of at the men.  

The man on the left moved forward to disarm him, lowering his own weapon slightly while his partner kept his aimed directly at Alex. Finally, when the man was directly in front of him, Alex brought the hand holding his gun down rapidly and sharply to crack against the man’s temple. He corrected his grip even as the first man crumpled and then quickly shot the second three times in the chest before he could react.

He took a step back, keeping his gun aimed as the second man fell limp. His hand moved up to active his com, but before he could a sharp prickle erupted against the back of his neck. His hand changed trajectory, reaching back to feel the small dart still lodged in his flesh. He attempted to remove it, but his vision was swirling and then gone completely as he, too, fell.

~*~

Waking up after a tranq was always an experience. The headache, the slight buzz on nausea, the stiffness infusing his body, it was all familiar. When James came to, he held himself completely still, listening intently to try and pick up as much information as he could before announcing his consciousness to the room.

He could hear commotion going on about twenty feet away from him. It sounded like boxes being moved and stacked, as he could hear the heavy drag of cardboard on cardboard every dozen seconds or so. He was tied to a chair, his hands bound behind him in a thick ball of rope and he’d lost sensation in his fingers since he’d lost consciousness. He couldn’t move them, nor could he move his legs that were similarly bound at the ankle and fastened to either front leg of seat.

He’d been stripped to his briefs, all of his accessories taken from him, and he felt a small swell of annoyance for allowing himself to be put in this position. Finally deciding he might as well get on with it, and wondering if his young partner was equally bound, he slowly cracked his eyes open and began looking around as discreetly as possible.

Rider was in fact bound across from him, sitting in a near identical position, head hanging limply down in front of him. It made sense that he’d still be out, he was quite a bit smaller than James, and didn’t have the small tolerance for being drugged built up that the more seasoned agent did. Despite having read in his file that he had a bullet wound on his left chest, James was still a bit taken-aback to see the thick starburst of scar tissue resting over the boys heart like a bulls eye, along with the random assortment of scars that definitely hadn’t been mentioned.  

Still, not the time to worry about it. He glanced around the rest of the room, seeing that the bank of monitors was actually a bank of surveillance video, showing every room and hallway of the warehouse above. It was no wonder they’d been taken out so easily- the men must have been tracking them from the moment they entered the building.

The monitor on the end was showing something different- a city street bustling with traffic and pedestrians. It looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it just then. He scanned further and saw a group of four men filling boxes with something wrapped in plastic and then stacking them on a pallet to the side.

He drew there attention then, quite by accident, as one of the men turned and glanced over at their prisoners, making eye contact with James before he could pretend to be asleep once more. The man got the others’ attention with a barked command in Russian and then stalked across the open space to stand before the double-oh agent.

Caught out, James shifted his position, no longer interested in looking limp but rather preparing himself for what was likely coming. He straightened his shoulders as much as possible considering his constraints, while at the same time managing to slouch himself down a bit further in the uncomfortable seat, tilting his head and meeting the brown eyes boldly.

_~*~ TBC ~*~_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to my wonderful readers. I have some bad news: My computer decided to crash a couple of weeks ago. Not sure what's wrong with it, but I got it to start once and it ran normally... And then it crashed again, and I couldn't get it to boot up for a week. I got it to start again this morning, and so I'm going to spend today polishing up everything that I have partially written and post it in parts rather than waiting until I have complete chapters. I will update as I am able, but I'm not sure what's going to happen with my laptop.
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes, I am working out of a cold medicine induced haze today. Thank you so much for reading, and I please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that I've had stuck on my mind for a while. Feedback greatly appreciated! Updates may be sporadic.


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